


When In Verona

by RAINMAK3R



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: AU, F/M, Italian, Letters To Juliet - Freeform, Letters To Juliet AU, M/M, Slow Build, some dialogue is taken straight from the movie but most is mine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 14:56:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7806289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RAINMAK3R/pseuds/RAINMAK3R
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter's been looking for a story to get his writing off the ground. When he goes on a pre-honeymoon trip with MJ to Verona, he doesn't expect that story to fall into his lap, but it does. Along with that story comes Bucky Barnes, in search of his lost love, and Wade Wilson, the downer of the group. No adventure is complete without mishaps, and this one has many.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When In Verona

Peter works his ass off as a photographer at the Daily Prophet, and he's trying to accompany as many journalists as possible before his pre-honeymoon so that way when he gets back he can explore his true passion: writing. It's been this way since he was little, and writing has always come naturally to him, a reprieve from the world and a way to engage it.

So when he walks into J.J.’s office, he isn't expecting to have an almost calm sort of discussion with his boss about his foray into writing, and well wishes on his pre-honeymoon.

“You’re a decent photographer, Parker.” J.J. starts.

“Thank you, sir.”

“I wouldn’t want to lose that talent to the writing staff.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But, if this is something you’re very interested in, I don’t mind if you explore this option, so long as you continue to take photographs.” J.J. continues.

“Yeah,” Peter agrees, “I'd be more than happy to do that.”

“Then go see what you can learn over there, and if there's a story out there.”

“I'll see what I can find.” Peter responds, and decides to leave before he agrees to do anything more.

On his way through the Daily Prophet’s floor, Betty catches his arm, loops hers through his, and walks with him to the elevator.

“So remind me again why you're going on a honeymoon _before_ the wedding?”

“Because once MJ opens the restaurant she's going to be super busy, not that she's not already or that I'm not, but it's easier to go away while the restaurant is still being finished.”

“Ahh.” Betty nods, and unlinks her arm as Peter takes a step towards the elevator. He presses the down button. “In any case, have fun in the city of love.” She drawls.

“I'm pretty sure that's Paris but I'll take the well wishes anyways.” Peter says, and the elevator doors open and he steps inside, watching as Betty gives him a two-fingered salute as the doors close.

Once he exits the building, he makes his way through the city until he's in front of MJ’s restaurant, and pushes through the doors and the tarps, greets the workers, and enters the kitchen, which is completely covered in strings of golden pasta.

“No, don't look!” MJ rushes forward, and clasps a hand over Peter's eyes, and shoves a piece of pasta into his mouth.

“Good, no? I think I've improved on the recipe! No, don't say anything, just try another one!” MJ uncovers his eyes.

“Hello to you too.” Peter says, once he's swallowed. He leans down and kisses her, and her lips, cool and dry, press back briefly against his before she whirls out of his arms, her red hair spinning in its braid. She makes to grab another pot but Peter tugs lightly on her sleeve.

“MJ, we have twelve hours before the flight, and you haven't even packed yet!” His tone is teasing, and MJ swats his hand away. She looks childishly guilty, like she’s been caught drawing on the walls with crayon but doesn’t actually feel bad about it.

“Okay, alright. Let me pack up and then we can go.” MJ amends, smiling at him. “Let's go, off to Verona!”

She whizzes about the room, cleaning up, and grabs at Peter's hand when she's done.

Peter shakes his head fondly and sighs as he lets MJ lead him back through the tarps.

* * *

After arriving at the airport, and getting on the plane, they touch down ten hours later, and after one almost too-long car ride later, Peter’s unpacking in their hotel room when he hears a sound from outside. He steps out onto the balcony, and there’s MJ, hands cupped around her mouth, down underneath the balcony, calling,

“Peter, Peter, wherefore art thou?”

Peter grins at her, and shouts back, “That's not what it means!”

“It's okay! You understood its intended meaning and that's all that matters!” MJ smiles back at him, and Peter runs out of the room, bounds down the stairs, out of the building to meet MJ in the courtyard and sweeps her into his arms, kissing her soundly.

“This is going to be a an amazing vacation.” Peter says once they break apart.

“Oh, yeah.” MJ agrees. “I actually scheduled a tour of a vineyard, well, actually, one of my suppliers invited me, and it's one of the biggest and oldest vineyards in this section of the country. How does that sound?”

“Uh,” Peter hesitates, “What about our other tours of the city, the ‑ the country? Wait ‑ how far away is it?”

“We could always do those another day! We’ve got time on our side!”

“Okay, okay, fine. But how far is it?”

“Maybe a two-hour drive?” Peter blanches, and MJ makes a face at him. “C’mon tiger, it'll be fun!”

“Alright. Sounds like a plan.”

They clamber into the car, with MJ taking the wheel, and head out of the city.

Peter is miserable, as they drive through the countryside, and his mood further declines when they arrive at the vineyard.

MJ and the supplier speak in rapid-fire Italian, leaving Peter, who only knows monosyllabic words, in the dust. He has a wine glass full of white wine shoved in his hand, and MJ is holding her hand out towards him, encouraging Peter to waft it, then drink it.

The supplier and MJ artfully sip from their glasses, and Peter can't help but peer down at his, and as he sticks his nose toward the brim, wrinkles his nose, face contorting in disgust, knowing that the other two people in the room aren't looking at him. He takes a quick sip and swallows it immediately, the almost rakish old-grape taste permeating all his senses. Peter loves beer, and in hindsight, he should've suggested Germany.

Then, suddenly, he and MJ are in the car again, heading further away from their hotel.

“Where to now?” Peter tries to keep the annoyance out of his voice. He's tired, even though it feels like he hasn't done much today.

“One of my vendors, for cheese, wants me to come by so I figured we'd go there on our way home.”

“MJ, we’re heading further away.” Peter tells her.

“It's fine,” she says, an indiscernible expression on her face, “we’ll sleep in tomorrow.”

Peter groans softly and buckles in for the ride.

* * *

The next day, MJ winds up leaving after they explore some of Verona together, abandoning Peter in the late afternoon.

Peter sits on a bench and pulls out his notebook to write, and gets lost in the words before someone stumbles into him. He looks up, and a brunette woman is sobbing, muttering what seems to be an apology in Italian before heading further away from him. He glances in the direction she came from, and sees an archway that leads into a courtyard, with various upset people leaving. It’s the courtyard made famous from _Romeo and Juliet_ , Peter realizes.

Peter closes his notebook, stands up, and walks towards the courtyard, reveling in the golden light that seems to reflect off the stone. Within the courtyard there are various benches and tables, covered with people sitting, standing, or kneeling, writing notes. He looks to his right and sees a wall, covered in notes, and pauses.

He’s never seen anything like this before, and the weight of whatever this might be forces his legs to bend as he sits down. He pulls out his notebook and begins writing, feeling suddenly inspired. From then, hours seem to pass, as more brokenhearted people filter through, writing notes, and leaving them in cracks in the walls or stuck on them.

Evening comes around, and suddenly, Peter is the last person in the courtyard, still rooted to the exact spot he sat in. A woman with striking red hair comes in with a basket, ignoring Peter, and begins to take down all the letters, pulling them off the walls in slow, steady motions. When she collects the last one, she turns on her heel and vanishes through the archway.

Something in Peter stirs, and he’s up on his feet, notebook tucked securely his arm, and he follows the woman, through the streets, a crowded restaurant, and into a house. She walks into a room with three other people, and Peter stops. She places the basket on the table, and the people start sorting through the letters, putting them into piles. Before he can stop himself, he knocks on the open door.

The other three look up as the red-haired woman walks towards him.

“Tu chi sei?” She says.

“Uh, what?”

A look of recognition spreads across her face. “Ah, American.” Her voice is accented, but Peter can’t quite pick it out. “Again, who are you? Are you the translator?”

“I’m not. I’m Peter. Um, Parker. Why’d you take those letters down?” He questions, and sticks out his hand. The woman purses her lips, then shakes his hand.

“Natasha Romanov. I took them down because we answer them.” Natasha sweeps her hand at the three others in the room. “This is Thor, Clint, and Wanda.” They each wave as their names are spoken.

“We answer the letters because people need the advice.”

“I didn’t ask.” Peter says.

“Ah, but your face said it all. And you asked in the beginning.” Natasha responds. She pulls out a chair. “Sit, see if you can answer the letters written in English.”

“Couldn’t you do that?”

“Yes, but I’m fluent in other languages, and you seem to know how to write well, so I think it would be good for you to sit with us and lend a hand.

Peter sits. “So, what do you write?”

“I respond to those of long distance troubles, who have language barriers.” Thor says.

“I answer letters about heartbreak, cheating, other scandals.” Clint says.

“Natasha and I answer the rest.” Wanda speaks up. “We have the most languages under our belt, so we translate and write the others.”

“So, you’re all Juliet?”

“Her secretaries, yes.” Wanda affirms, eyes twinkling.

Peter gets a pile pushed towards him by Thor, who smiles kindly at him, and lets him work in silence.

The last of the daylight falls, and Clint pushes back his chair. “I do believe it’s dinner time. Peter, would you like to join us?”

Peter looks around at the table, and says, “I’m sorry. MJ will be missing me, I have to get back to the hotel. It was a pleasure to meet you all.”

“Don’t go back empty-handed.” Thor says, and stands, disappears through a doorway, and reemerges a moment later, holding a bag in his hands. “Desert. For you and your loved one.”

“How'd you know?”

“You just confirmed it.” Thor says kindly.

Peter bows his head forward. “Thank you.”

He heads back to the hotel room, and thankfully, MJ is there. He didn’t want to come back to an empty hotel room.

“Hey there, tiger.” She says, her dress swirling around her ankles. “How was your day ‑ oh, what’s this?” She picks up the bag, and pulls out a pastry, and bites into it.

“I‑ my day was good. I went to the wall, erm, Juliet’s balcony, where I saw all these heartbroken people leaving letters, and‑”

MJ starts talking, overlapping his thoughts with her own. “Oh my goodness, Peter, this is amazing! It’s so flaky and, _mmm_ , so light!”

“‑And I got to meet the secretaries of Juliet, MJ, they take down the letters and respond to them all; it’s so amazing.”

“Where did you even get this? Oh, wow.”

“They invited me to stay for dinner, but I declined because I knew you’d be back and I thought we could grab a late dinner.”

“Peter we have to go back to where these were made. What were you saying?”

Peter sucks in air through his teeth, and shakes his head forlornly. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll go tomorrow, okay?”

“Thank you, baby.” MJ stands on her toes and pecks Peter on the lips, arms briefly winding around his neck before she slips away and calls, “I’m taking a shower.”

* * *

The next day Peter goes with MJ to the house early, and she immediately goes to Thor, who whisks her into the kitchen, babbling on about Italian delicacies. He stands there, feeling abandoned, when Natasha grabs at him, and ushers him past the kitchen and into the dining room.

“Sit.” She commands. “You’ll answer letters, and at the end of the day, we’re going to collect the letters. No more… whatever this is.”

“Natasha.” Peter says, deflated.

“I won’t let you sit in a funk when you could be doing productive things.” She counters.

“It would be nice to do productive things with my fiancée.” Peter mutters. Natasha looks at him, and he sees pity flash across her face.

“I’m sorry, Peter.” She squeezes a hand on his shoulder, and the moment is gone as quickly as it began. “Whatever happens, we have letters to answer.” Natasha looks back in the direction of the kitchen, then back at Peter.

“Fine, fine.” Peter cedes. “Let’s answer letters.”

“That’s the spirit!”

* * *

The secretaries and Peter spend the rest of the day writing letters, breaking briefly for lunch made by Thor and MJ, and then they continue on. Thor and MJ disappear back into the kitchen, and it’s back to writing letters.

At the end of the day, when the sun starts to set, Natasha grabs her basket and Peter, and brings them to the courtyard.

“Collect.” She orders him, waving at the wall, and Peter does. The dimming light makes it slightly more tough to gather the notes, but nonetheless, both Peter and Natasha manage to pick off all the letters from the wall.

He works his way down the wall, with Natasha having finished her section, and as he pulls a sticky note off the wall, the rock that it was held to comes tumbling out of it’s spot, crashing onto the pavement. Peter looks back up at the hole in the wall.

“There’s a letter in here.” He squints at it.

“Well then, take it out.” Natasha tells him. Peter grabs it, and places it in the basket.

“Alright.” Natasha says. “Let’s go back and answer some more letters.”

They make their way back through the streets and enter the house, where the letters are sorted. Natasha hands him the one he found.

“This one feels like it’s something only you can answer. Make me proud.” Natasha says.

Peter looks at the envelope letter is encased in. It’s old, more fragile to the touch than he initially noticed, and the flap of the envelope opens easily. He scans over it, and looks up at the other secretaries.

“You guys need to hear this.”

Natasha, Clint, and Wanda pause, and Thor comes out of the kitchen as Peter starts talking again.

“It reads:

“‘ _Dear Juliet,_

“‘ _I didn’t go to Steve, Juliet. I promised I’d meet him to run away together. But instead, I left him waiting for me, while I returned to the army base. Please, Juliet, tell me what I should do._

“‘ _Love, Bucky_.’”

“How old is it?” Thor asks, sitting down at the table.

“It’s dated from ten years ago.” Peter tells him. “I have to write back.”

“I don't know if you should do it, man.” Clint argues. “It's been ten years. The guy’s probably over it by now, and there's no need to be stirring up old feelings.”

“You should write this Bucky back,” Thor looks at Clint as he says it, “it could bring him some peace of mind.”

“I think I will.” Peter agrees, looking pointedly at Clint, and gets out a pen and piece of paper.

He puts the pen to paper, and suddenly, his words fail him. The page stays blank, as the others answer their letters in a flurry.

Peter gets pulled into deep thoughts, and looks over at MJ, who’s sitting in the living room now, engrossed in a cookbook, before finding his inspiration and writing, the words spilling onto the page like raindrops. The letter starts out as one page, but continually progresses until it's two, three pages, front and back sides covered. As he writes, time moves quickly and he finds himself bidding goodnight to each of the secretaries.

The natural light has yet again left the city when Peter stops writing, and Clint is finishing up his last letter.

“I just wanted to apologize for earlier, I shouldn't have said it’s a bad idea. If you really think it would help this Bucky person, then I shouldn't have bad-mouthed it.” Clint smiles apologetically and pushes in his chair.

“Thanks. But you didn't need to apologize. In hindsight it's kinda dumb to respond to a ten-year-old letter, but I just felt like I _had to_ ; does that make sense?” Peter asks.

“It does. Anyways, I'm off to bed. See you in the morning?”

“Yeah. Good night, Clint.”

Peter puts down the letter, and finds an envelope to seal it in, writes on the address, and puts it in the basket that Natasha takes to the post office.

“MJ,” he calls, “are you ready?”

“Yeah.” She snaps her book shut, bounces off the couch, and grabs Peter’s hand as they walk out of the secretaries house.

The walk back to the hotel passes by quickly, and before Peter even realizes it, he’s in bed, MJ sitting out on the balcony, talking in lowered Italian on the phone. The conversation lasts a few minutes longer, then MJ walks back inside, and sits on the edge of the bed, her hands resting on Peter’s curled legs.

“So,” she begins quietly,”I was invited to go to a wine auction, but, um, they only have one ticket. Of course I could try to get two, but at this stage it’d be pretty difficult to procure one, and‑”

“It’s fine. You can go alone.” Peter says, and curls tighter into the sheets, facing away from her. MJ sighs, and rubs his legs.

“I can always say no.” She says softly, lying.

“I know you don’t want to, MJ. I know you well enough to know that.” Peter tells her.

“Well, it’s a win-win situation, then. You’ll stay and write or whatever with the secretaries, and I’ll be away for a few days, and at the end we’ll meet up and do whatever you want, okay?”

“Okay.” Peter says. “You’ll have an early morning. Go to sleep.” MJ kisses the side of his forehead, and curls behind him. Peter doesn’t stop thinking about how she called it a ‘win-win’ situation until long after he’s fallen asleep.

* * *

A response to Peter’s letter comes a few days later. Peter’s been spending most, if not all of his time with the secretaries, as MJ stays at the wine auction.

Peter’s in the middle of getting lunch, when he walks into the dining room and sees a tall, heavily scarred man pulling a slightly shorter, if not just as fit, man into the house.

“Who wrote the letter to Bucky?” The scarred man demands.

“Come fanno a continuare a trovare la casa?” Natasha mutters under her breath.

“I did.” Peter raises his hand.

“Why? What were you thinking, when you wrote this?”

“That Bucky deserved an answer.” Wanda, Peter notices out of the corner of his eye, nods in approval.

“You…” the man sounds exasperated, “you really shouldn’t have written that letter.”

“Why not?” Peter questions, setting his plate down on the table.

“Because now,” the man sighs, and motions to the man beside him, “Bucky’s going to go and try to find Steve after all these years. It’s been ten years. It’s not a good idea.”

“It is a good idea, you fuck.” The shorter man ‑ Bucky, finally interjects.

“You must be Bucky, then.” Peter says, and sticks out his hand, which Bucky shakes.

“James Barnes, but yeah, call me Bucky. You are?”

“Peter Parker.”

“Thank you for writing the letter. Sourpuss over here is Wade Wilson. We served together.”

“Is that how you got all the scars?” Clint pipes up. Natasha elbows him sharply in the side and he keels over, groaning.

“Sorry he’s so rude.” Natasha apologizes. “No brain to mouth filter.”

“I’m used to it.” Wade says, sounding indifferent. He sits in the chair opposing Peter, next to Wanda, and looks up at Bucky. “We are not going on a goose-chase.”

“Wade.” Bucky says. “This could be my chance. I could find Steve, tell him‑”

“Tell him what? You’re sorry for doing what you had to do? For doing the right thing? Bucky, I know how much you hurt, then, and now. Don’t put yourself through this. Not after everything you’ve been through.”

“But, Wade, I could just tell him how‑”

“Stop, Bucky. There’s no chance.”

“Fuck you.” Bucky spits, and storms outside. Natasha grabs Clint and exits the room, and Wanda follows.

“Why’re you here?” Peter asks. “Why come if you’re not supportive of Bucky going on a ‘goose-chase’?”

Wade slumps in his chair, the fight seemingly gone from his body, and amends, “I don't know if it's the best idea for Bucky to go after Steve. I mean, I want him to be happy, but, what if Steve’s moved on? It’s been ten years, and even that’s a bit of stretch.”

“You’re worried about him.” Peter says.

“Yes. It’s what friends do.”

“Is there any way I could convince you to let him find Steve?”

“I don’t know. The heartbreak the first time was devastating. A second time? God.” Wade says.

Bucky comes back in the room then, and sits diagonally from Wade.

“I want to find him, Wade. You can either come with me, or you can go back home. Whatever you choose, I’m going.”

“Bucky‑” Wade starts.

“I’ll go with you.” Peter cuts Wade off. “And, I’d be more than willing to help you find him.”

“You don’t know Bucky!” Wade protests.

“He could.” Bucky says. “You’re more than welcome to join me, Peter.”

“What do you even know about love?” Wade asks.

“I’m engaged.” Peter protests.

“I’m coming with.” Wade relents after a moment of thought. “I don’t trust you two to not do anything stupid.”

Bucky pauses, ignoring Wade’s remark, and says to Peter, “Where would we even start looking?”

“There’s time to figure that out.” Natasha reappears in the doorway. “Now, it’s dinner time.” Wanda and Thor enter the dining room, carrying trays of food, while Clint grabs the baskets of letters and picks them up off the table, and replaces them with place settings.

After the table is set, and everyone has finished most of their meal, content with conversation and company, Peter speaks up.

“So you’ve come to find your Steve?” Peter inquires, leaning towards Bucky.

“Yes.” Bucky affirms. “There are things I need to tell him.”

“Like what?” Peter asks.

“That I was afraid. Worse, I was a coward.”

“He came back.” Wade says. “After he made the decision to leave Steve, he came back and was a disaster. Sorry.”

Bucky waves an apathetic hand. “No, it’s true. It wasn’t that I was afraid to be with him, but that I had a duty to my country and I put that above all else, my happiness, his happiness, and that’s what made me a coward. I didn’t go after him. And I loved ‑ love ‑ him.”

“So you were serving, and somehow you met Steve, and – I'm sorry, what's the story here?” Peter says.

“I had leave, for two weeks, while I was stationed in Italy with my regiment, which included Wade. I went to Tuscany, wandering around until I met this five-foot-nothing, hundred pounds soaking wet, gorgeous guy named Steve Rogers. He offered to show me around the region, and one thing led to another and by the end of that week I had fallen in love with him. The next week passed in a blur, and at the end Steve asked me to meet him somewhere, so I could run away with him, and I couldn't. I didn’t even tell him I loved him. I wanted to, so badly, but I… couldn't.” Bucky’s voice wobbles, and he turns away from the table for a moment. Wanda pats his shoulder, squeezes it briefly, then draws her hand back to her side.

“And now you want to apologize for not being brave enough to be with him.” Peter says.

“Yes.” Bucky puts his head in his hands.

“Do you have anything that could help us find him?”

“He once drew a self-portrait, and I’ve kept that for many years. But otherwise, I’d guess that he’s probably, maybe, still in Tuscany. After all, it’s known for its Renaissance-era art and if there’s anywhere Steve would’ve stayed, it would’ve been there.” Bucky explains.

“So that’s how we’ll do it. We’ll figure out how many Steve Rogers live in the area, and then go knocking on each door until we find your Steve.” Peter says.

Bucky looks up from his hands and nods. “Here’s the portrait.” He pulls out his wallet, and unfolds a piece of weathered, slightly yellowed paper and hands it over to Peter. In rough, lightened pencil lines is Steve, with a narrow face, hair brushed up and back, intense eyes set over a stubborn jaw, neck slim, leading down to the end of the paper.

“It’s good.” Peter says, unsure of what else to say.

“Nothing like the real thing.” Bucky says.

“Uh-huh.” Peter agrees.

“Tomorrow, we’ll start looking, okay?” Wade finally interjects. “First, we’ll have to get some stuff ready.” Wade stands and takes his plate into the kitchen, and further disappears.

“That’s the last of him we’ll see tonight.” Bucky tells the group.

“I’ll help wash up.” Peter says, just so he doesn’t have to go back to the empty hotel room. Natasha gives him a once-over and nods, and the evening ends with Peter going back to his hotel room where he passes out the moment his head touches the pillow.

* * *

The next day, at eight am sharp, Wade, Bucky, and Peter are packed into Natasha’s red Fiat, with a threat that if there’s so much as a scratch on her car, they’ll never be seen again. They swear that no harm will come to the car, and speed out-of-town.

“So, where to first?” Wade asks from the wheel. Bucky sits next to him, and Peter’s smushed in the back, with no space to stretch his legs.

“First, we head south to Tuscany, which will be a few hours, then, we stop in Florence and rent a room.”

“Then to where?”

“Lunch.”

“Fantastic plan.”

“What? Food is fuel.” Bucky says. “You know this.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Hey, Bucky?” Peter says.

“What’s up?”

“Would it be alright if I wrote about this?” Bucky turns around in the passenger seat.

“How come?”

“Well, I want to be a writer, and your story is so intriguing and I figured if there was anything that could inspire me, it would be this.”

“Would you publish it?”

“If my boss lets me.”

“Yeah, write it. If your writings can help others as much as it has helped me already, go for it.”

“Bucky, it’s your personal life.” Wade suddenly says. “Do you really want that out there?”

“DADT was repealed, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” Wade says.

“Really? What do you mean by it?” Bucky sounds accusatory as he spits it out.

“In this day and age, everything is so heavily scrutinized by the media, and people are so easily influenced by the media, and it could turn out… badly.”

“Well, as it turns out, I don’t give a shit.”

“Fine.” Wade says, exasperated.

The car quiets, with only the radio humming in the background. Peter takes out his notebook and begins writing, highlighting the beginnings of their journey. He gets lost in the details that he doesn’t even notice when they stop.

“Peter? Hello?” Wade waves a hand in front of his face. “It’s lunch time.”

“Huh, what?” Peter’s head snaps up. “I thought we were checking into a hotel first.”

“We did that already.”

“What? When?”

“Yeah, about twenty minutes ago, and we unloaded the car, but you were so engrossed by your writing that Bucky made me leave you alone. Now, however, you have no choice. Get out of the car, we’re going to lunch.”

“Where?”

“How the hell would I know? I’m leaving it up to Bucky. He knows more Italian than I do.”

“How much Italian _do_ you know?” Peter asks.

“Enough.” Wade says. “Enough that if I need to escape an area I know all the words for transportation and how to find a bathroom.”

“Fantastic.” Peter gets out of the car as Wade locks it, and they join Bucky in the lobby of the hotel.

“How do you guys feel about lunch in town? It’s a bit of a walk but I figured we could ask some people if they know Steve.”

“Sounds good with me. Wade?” Peter says.

“Yeah.” Wade agrees.

They walk into town, which is ten minutes from the hotel, and as they find a small bistro, Bucky excuses himself to go talk to the hostess.

“Lo conosci? Il suo nome è Steve Rogers.” He says, unfolding the paper and handing it to her.

“Steve Rogers?” She replies, her accent heavy. “Suona familiare. Penso che sia un artista.”

“Sai dove vive?” Bucky asks her.

“No.” She looks apologetically at Bucky. “Ma, lo fa fare un sacco di proiezioni. Vedere se è possibile trovare un volantino in città.”

“Grazie.” Bucky says, and heads back over to their table.

“What’d you find out?” Wade asks.

“He’s an artist, maybe. She doesn’t know where he lives, but he does a lot of art shows, and fliers are around town, so we can see if there’s one around town.” Bucky explains.

“First, lunch.” Wade tells him.

“Of course that’s your main concern.” Bucky thwaps his arm with his cloth napkin.

“Of course it is! We didn’t have breakfast.”

Peter stares out the window as they argue, and as they continue to argue throughout lunch, and as they pay the bill and walk further into town, stopping at a local art store.

Bucky goes to the manager, and asks him the same questions, and gets similar answers, but with one deviation. He walks over to Peter and Wade, who are looking over painting hung on the wall.

“He said that Steve isn’t settled in Florence.”

“Fuck.” Peter says, and looks over at a painting of a brown-haired woman with bright red lipstick, wearing a vintage dress and a red hat.

“Shit, Peter, move over.” Bucky pushes past Peter and stares at the painting. “That’s Peggy. Wade, Wade! Look, that’s definitely Steve’s art.”

“What ‑ oh, wow, look at Peggy!” Wade exclaims.

“Who’s Peggy?” Peter asks.

“One of Steve’s friends… I don’t know if they’re still friends, ‘cause I haven’t seen or heard from Peggy in ten years, but, um, if there’s a painting of Peggy here, that only reinforces that Steve’s near here.”

Wade lifts the painting up off the wall, and turns it around, where there’s a small paper tucked into the left corner of the canvas.

“It was painted last year.” Wade says. “And there’s a location, too.”

“Where?” Bucky and Peter question at the same time.

“Siena. We can go tomorrow.”

“Okay. Okay. Good.”

* * *

The next day, they check out of the hotel and drive to Siena, where they find another hotel, and spend the day wandering around the city, until Bucky decides in the afternoon that they’ve gotten nowhere on their search, and retires to the hotel room.

“Ice cream?” Peter suggests.

“You mean gelato?”

“Whatever. I’m buying.”

“Then yes, _ice cream_.”

“Fuck you.” Peter laughs, and they turn onto a busy street.

“Isn’t your fiancée getting lonely right about now?” Wade asks, as they walk up the street.

“I doubt she even notices I’m gone.” Peter says, feeling slightly resentful, and remembering they were supposed to be on a vacation together.

“Wow, I sense resentment.”

“Well, you’d be right.” Peter admits. “You know what, no. I’m not going to complain about it.”

“Why, who am I going to tell?”

“Bucky.”

“Nah, he’s got enough to worry about, what with his quest to find Steve.”

“It’s just that… We were supposed to be on vacation, a pre-honeymoon, together. Because MJ’s restaurant is opening after the wedding, and we’d have no time to go on an actual honeymoon. So enter the pre-honeymoon, while the restaurant is still being finished, and instead of touring Verona and spending time just enjoying each other, she’s off at some wine auction while I’m here, in Siena of all places, getting ice cream with a guy I met three days ago.”

“That’s something else. I’m sorry, man.” Wade apologizes.

“No need. I let her go.”

“Yeah, but she didn’t have to accept the offer.”

“Can we talk about something else?” Peter pleads, not wanting to talk about MJ anymore.

So they talk about something else. They find a small ice cream shop, order cones, pay, and sit outside on rickety metals chairs, leaning their arms on an equally rickety table. They eat their ice cream and talk about their youths, spent in detentions in Wade’s case, and in the science lab, regarding Peter, and get into an ice cream fight after Peter insults Wade’s driving skills, and gets Wade’s strawberry gelato smeared on his nose. They laugh, more, and after they calm down, they head back to the hotel.

When they get back, Peter joins Wade and Bucky in their adjoined room, and Bucky is unusually quiet.

Peter sits next to him on the bed and asks, “What’s wrong?”

“I found out that Dernier is buried here.” Bucky folds his hands together, and Peter notices how red his eyes are.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Wade says, and explains to Peter, “Dernier was one of the men who we served with, but he chose to stay rather than get discharged, and we haven’t heard from him in years. I suppose that’s why.”

“How’d you find out?” Peter asks.

“I, um, went to the church, just to, be there, I guess, and I was looking at the ‘In Memoriam’ wall, and Derniers’ name was up there. I couldn’t bring myself to go out to the grave, so can you guys come with me tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” Wade and Peter affirm.

“I’m going to go to bed. I’m sorry about Dernier.” Peter says, and leaves through the adjoined door.

Once Peter settles back into his room, he calls MJ.

“Hey, MJ.” He greets.

“Hey, tiger. I was just thinking about you.” MJ’s voice sounds tinny.

“How’s the wine auction?”

“Oh.” Her voice is immediately guilty.

“What?”

“I’m not, actually, there, anymore?”

“Where are you?”

“Livorno.” She says. “Look, I met another one of my vendors, and she offered to take me to this amazing butchery… Okay, maybe the wrong use of amazing, but this butchery that‑”

“How much longer will you be gone for?” Peter cuts her off.

“I need another few days. At least. I’m sorry Peter.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m actually, on a trip with some people I met through the secretaries, and I need a few more days, too. I’m even writing about it.”

“That sounds fantastic, Peter! Promise you’ll tell me all about it later?” She requests.

“Why not now?”

“I’m at a dinner, right now, and I had to sneak away to answer this, and ‑ un secondo ‑ I gotta go. I’ll talk to you soon. Bye.” And she hangs up on Peter before he has the chance to say goodbye.

He realizes that she didn’t even say ‘I love you’, and falls asleep to turmoil. 

* * *

 

Standing at Dernier’s grave is horrible. Seeing Bucky so torn up about his friend makes Peter want to curl into a ball and never move again, and he thinks of his uncle, before turning his attention back to Bucky.

Wade rubs soothing circles on Bucky’s hunched back, and Bucky’s breaths seem to quiet down, before his body angles in a different direction, and he goes rigid.

“What? Bucky, what’s wrong?” Wade asks.

“L-look.” Bucky points with a shaking finger at a tombstone not to far from the one in front of them. Wade walks over and reads it aloud.

“S. Rogers. Nineteen-eighty-one to two-thousand-and-something. Beloved friend.” He turns back to Bucky. “It might not be him. It could be a totally different person.”

“But,” Bucky whimpers, sounding lost, “what if it’s him, and I never got the chance to tell him I still love him. That I wanted to be with him for the rest of my life. Fuck. Fuck.” Bucky turns, and falls into Peter’s arms, sobbing.

“Hey, hey.” Peter pats his back, awkwardly. “Wade’s most likely right. Steve is out there, not down there.”

“You don’t understand. Steve wasn’t just a skinny, short guy, he was sick all the time. He told me that in his childhood, and even to adulthood, he spent the majority of his time recuperating from whatever he was sick from.” Bucky whines, and Peter looks over at Wade, who looks dejectedly back at Peter.

“Bucky, let’s go.” Wade speaks up. “Let’s call it a day.” Bucky detaches himself from Peter and starts walking back to the car.

They drive back to the hotel in silence, and as they arrive at the hotel, Wade speaks up once more.

“I think we should return home the day after tomorrow. Enjoy one day in the city, and head back to Verona.”

Peter is about to protest when Wade shushes him with a look. Bucky just nods sullenly, the drive to find Steve taken out of him.

Wade wanders off to the pool, and Bucky and Peter head back to the room. Bucky flops down on the bed, and Peter sits next to him.

“I know this must be really tough. But there’s alway the chance that it isn’t Steve, and we can alway keep looking. There’s got to be another way.”

Bucky groans into the mattress.

“Look, Bucky, we can always go back home, but that doesn’t mean you have to give up.” Peter tries. Bucky mutters something inaudible into the mattress.

“What?”

Bucky turns his head. “I need some time, okay?”

“Yeah.” Peter gets up and leaves the room.

Peter hangs out by the pool for the rest of the day, writing in his notebook, and takes breaks to talk with Wade. They all wind up having dinner separately, and the evening is quiet.

Peter tries to call MJ again, but the call goes straight to voicemail, and Peter doesn’t leave one. Peter tries to go to bed, but he can’t fall asleep. He decides to take a walk, instead, and finds himself going to the front lawn, which is a sloped hill full of lush green grass and other plants.

He sees another figure on the lawn, and panics, until he realizes that it’s Wade.

“Wade?” He calls.

Wade’s head pops up, and looks around abruptly before settling on Peter.

“Hey.” Wade responds. “What’re you doing here?”

“Can’t sleep.” Peter sits down next to Wade. “Why’re you here?”

“I can’t sleep, either. Wanna stargaze with me?”

“Sure.” Peter lays down, next to Wade, and looks up.

They look up at the stars, enjoying the silence. Wade’s head is parallel to Peter’s and Peter wonders how he managed to get himself in such a situation. The bugs buzz in the background, the wind is a soft murmur in his ears, and the hushed calm is broken by Wade’s voice.

“Do you think he’s still out there, Bucky’s Steve?” Wade asks.

“Yeah.” Peter says. “Why?”

“I worry about Bucky. I just don’t want him to get hurt, after all this time. I mean, I know how painful it was for Bucky to make that decision to leave Steve and come back to camp, because Bucky was a mess when he returned.”

“I don’t want Bucky to hurt either. As I’ve gotten to know him, I, I realized how much this means to him, and I don't want there to be an unhappy ending.”

“But you can’t predict the ending, can you? I mean, that grave? If that’s really Steve under there, God, I couldn’t even imagine.” Wade sighs, and scrubs a hand over his face. “It’s not like I don’t have my own sob story, but with Bucky‑”

“What’s your sob story?” Peter asks, turning his head to face Wade’s.

“It’s my ex-girlfriend.” Wade starts. “Vanessa. She left me because she couldn’t deal with all this. My PTSD issues and all the other issues that came along with serving in the army and getting burned in a fire.”

“I’m sorry.” Peter says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. “A fire?” He says after a heartbeat.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.” Peter repeats, feeling like a broken record.

“Nah, it’s fine. No, don’t look at me like that. It really is. Vanessa and I have been over for a year and I’m alright with that.”

“You don’t hurt anymore? Over her, I mean.” Peter asks.

“Of course I _did_. But anymore, no. Did I dig a hole and wallow in that self-pity? Sure. But I don’t now, because it’s in the past and I’ve accepted it.”

“My uncle Ben was shot when I was fifteen.” Peter says, suddenly. Wade’s face turns, and looks almost wildly at him.

“I always felt responsible. I still feel responsible. It was my fault and if I hadn’t‑” Peter pauses, “if I hadn’t been so stupid and reckless, he might still be alive.”

“Hey, _hey_ , you can’t do that to yourself. It’s not good.” Wade’s eyes suddenly show immeasurable depth, and Peter feels like a moth drawn to a flame. He feels suddenly tired, and unconsciously moves closer to Wade.

“How else am I supposed to feel?”

“I couldn’t tell you that. But you’ve been blaming yourself, and you need to forgive yourself instead.”

“It’s not that easy.” Peter looks away from Wade.

“No one ever said that it was.” Wade gives him a small smile, and strokes a thumb across Peter’s chin. Peter shrugs his shoulders, the blades of grass scratching against his neck, and then Wade’s kissing him.

Wade’s lips are warm and soft, and Peter turns his body more towards Wade, and it’s nothing like kissing MJ, it’s a thousand times better, and Peter could just stay here, huddled next to Wade, kissing him like he’s drowning, drowning, drowning ‑

“I can’t.” Peter says. “I‑ I have MJ. I can’t do that to her. I’m sorry.” Peter gets up, and walks away, leaving Wade still laying on his side in the grass, frozen.

Beyond them, on the third floor, through the open window, stands Bucky. He considers them, and closes the window before backing away, a knowing expression on his face.

* * *

The next day, they check out of the hotel after breakfast, and pack the car up.

“Can you sit in the front, Peter? I want to take a kip in the backseat because I slept like crap last night.” Bucky asks, eying Wade, who’s already situated himself, once again, in the driver’s seat.

“Uh, sure. I don’t mind.” But, Peter does, because he kissed Wade and he shouldn’t have, and now things with Wade are awkward, and he’s engaged.

Peter slides in the passenger seat, and looks immediately down. Bucky gets in the backseat and Wade starts the car, and they head out. Peter immediately goes to his notebook to write, Wade puts on the radio, and Bucky moves to spread out as best he can in the backseat, and falls asleep.

After about two hours of driving, Bucky wakes up just as they pass the sign for ‘Mirandola ‑ 5km’.

“Hey, we should stop at Mirandola.” Bucky says.

“How was your nap?” Peter asks.

“Was good,” Bucky yawns, and rubs his face, “I feel much better now. Feel hungry too.”

“Okay, we can find a place to get some lunch, then.” Wade says. “What’re you in the mood for?”

“Anything.”

“Peter?” Wade asks, and it’s the first time they’ve spoken all day.

“Whatever’s fine.” Peter says.

They find a small café, which sits across the street from a souvenir shop, where they sit and scarf down their food, much more hungry than they anticipated. After they split the bill, Bucky decides he wants to go over and get something. He turns to them outside the shop.

“I just wanted to say thank you. For coming with me, even when you guys had other things to be doing. For supporting me, through this goose-chase.” Bucky’s voice wavers. “I know that maybe Steve’s dead, or maybe he’s alive, but um, I was thinking after I talked to Peter that I’m going to be okay if I don’t see Steve again.”

Wade pats Bucky. “Alright then. I’m proud of you.”

“Yeah.” Bucky shakes his head, and pushes through the door, Wade and then Peter behind him.

“I must’ve read the sign wrong.” Bucky says, as he stops in the middle of the shop. It has no souvenirs, but is covered in art and art supplies.

“This is amazing.” Peter says. Bucky looks at one of the shelves, then shuffles through an aisle full of notebooks.

“Posso aiutarti?” A voice calls from the register at the back of the store. Bucky turns to the back and starts walking closer. Peter and Wade follow him.

“Sì, stavo cercando‑” He starts, and then stops.

“ _S-Steve_?” Bucky’s voice cracks. Indeed, Steve is sitting behind the counter, looking not at all like the five-foot-nothing, hundred pound man Bucky described him to be. Steve looks to be a foot and a half taller, easily, and close to ninety pounds heavier, with much more bulk and muscle on his body. But his face is the same, if not more filled out, and his eyes are a piercing blue, something the grayscale sketch left out.

“Bucky?” Steve stands. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been looking for you.” And then Bucky sniffles, and laughs, a growing smile on his face. “Look at you.” He waves at Steve’s body. “You’re a regular transformer.”

Steve looks confused. “I can’t believe you’re here. How did you find me?”

“We looked all over Tuscany. I thought I wasn’t going to find you, and I was making peace with that as I walked into the shop.”

“We?”

“Yeah, Wade ‑ do you remember Wade?

“Yeah.” Steve manages a small wave towards Wade and Peter.

“Wade came, and so did Peter. Peter wrote back to me, because I wrote a letter to Juliet ten years ago asking for advice, and he responded, a week ago, and I realized I needed to find you, and see you.” Bucky describes.

“Why?”

Bucky gets quiet all of sudden. “I wanted… I wanted to apologize. For doing the right thing instead of what would’ve made us so happy, Stevie. I was a coward. I went back to the army and I left you. I left you alone and I’ve never regretted a decision so much.”

Steve comes out from behind the counter, and stands in front of Bucky, making them less than two feet apart. His eyes are shining with unspilled tears, and even Bucky is having trouble keeping himself together.

“Stevie, I’m still in love with you. I never stopped loving you, not even for a second. It’s only ever been you. But I understand if ten years is too long a time, if you don’t want to be with me, if you’ve moved on.”

“Bucky.” Steve reaches out, and pulls Bucky into his arms. “I still love you. I never forgot about you.”

Steve kisses Bucky, then, while Peter and Wade look on, smiling at the pair. Peter looks up at Wade, almost uncertainly, but Wade just shrugs at him, and looks back at Steve and Bucky, who are content standing in the middle of the store, arms wrapped around each other.

“Would you guys like to come over for dinner?” Steve questions.

“Sure.” Wade and Peter say. 

* * *

They sit around a large wooden table out in Steve’s backyard, and gorge themselves on pasta with homemade garlic bread and sausage.

“So, Steve, how’d you bulk up? Last time we heard about you, you were a skinny young thing.” Wade says.

“I entered into this experimental drug program. Peggy was actually a part of it, and she helped me with all of it, finding the money and the time to devote to it, and after a year and a half, I’d gone from skinny kid to this.” Steve explains.

“Did it make everything bigger?” Wade waggles his eyebrows.

“That’s for me to know and Bucky to find out.” Bucky blushes, and gives Steve a light shove.

“Shut up, you punk.”

“Make me.” Steve challenges, and Bucky kisses him.

“It’s like watching your parents kiss… gross.” Wade whispers to Peter. Peter laughs.

“It really is.” He agrees.

“Oh, Peter.” Steve says.

“Yeah?”

“I wanted to thank you for writing that letter to Bucky. It means the world to me, and I’ll never be able to express how grateful I am that you decided to write it.”

“You’re welcome. I was more than happy to write it.” Peter looks at Wade out of the corner of his eye, then back at Steve.

They finish up dinner, and by the time everything is cleared away, Peter is reminded of the awkwardness between him and Wade, so he pulls Steve aside before he gets dessert out.

“Steve?”

“What’s up, Peter?”

“Is there some way that I can go home? I have a fiancée to back to.” Peter feels like it's a lie, looking through Steve at Wade.

Steve notices, and looks over his shoulder and sees Wade, then nods. “Yeah. I can have Sam drive you home. He’s my neighbor.”

“Thank you. For your hospitality, for dinner.”

“Of course. You’re always welcome here.”

Peter nods, and heads out to the Fiat  to make sure all his bags are there, and Bucky joins him as Steve gets Sam.

“I wish you and Steve the best of luck.” Peter says, his throat thick with emotion. “Thank you for letting me come on this amazing journey with you.”

“Peter, I am so thankful for you.” Bucky says, and hugs him tightly.

“If you ever need anything, here’s my work address.” Peter takes out his notebook and scribbles the address on the piece of paper, and tears it out. Bucky folds it and puts it in his pocket.

Steve comes back around with Sam, and Steve hugs Peter again, and as Wade comes out to say goodbye, Peter’s already in the car with Sam, who’s turning out of the driveway.

Bucky smacks him upside the head as the car vanishes.

“How many Peter Parker’s are you going to meet? Go after him and tell him how you feel!”

Wade looks uncertainly from Steve to Bucky, and Bucky presses Steve's keys into his palm.

“Go.”

Wade does.

* * *

 

When Peter gets back to Verona, he thanks Sam profusely for driving him, and heads up to his room, where he sees MJ waiting for him on the balcony. Her face lights up as she sees him, and he rushes to the balcony, picks her up, swings her around, and kisses her soundly.

“I missed you so much, tiger.” MJ says fondly.

“I missed you too.” Peter tells her, and buries his face in her hair as he holds her, and closes his eyes.

He opens them a moment later, hearing MJ’s phone go off, and she peels out of his embrace to answer it.

“Gimme a sec, Peter, and then tell me all about your adventures!” She says as she accepts the call.

Peter bites back a disbelieving laugh, and for a moment, swears he sees Steve's car driving off around the corner.

He shakes his head and goes back into the hotel room.

* * *

 

Peter shows back up at work, nervous about the meeting with J.J.

“Hey, it’s gonna be fine.” Betty assures him.

“Betty, I’m not so sure about that.” Peter tells her.

“Pft. You have skills, Peter. Don’t sell yourself short.”

“Parker!” J.J. calls from his office.

“That’s me.” Peter says.

“Go get ‘em.”

“Thanks.” Peter walks into the office, and closes the door behind him. J.J. motions for Peter to sit, so he does.

“I want to print the story.” J.J. says.

Peter’s mouth almost drops open. “You do?” His voice is an octave too high.

“I could tell you ‘don’t be so surprised’, but that would be false. But, the story is astonishing.”

“Thank you.” Peter manages.

“So, what happens next?”

“Well, I’d like to be able to write more.” Peter starts.

“No, I meant in the story. After Steve and Bucky found one another.” J.J. says. “After they reunited.”

“I don’t know. I didn’t keep in touch.” Peter admits, thinking of Wade and neither Steve or Bucky. “

“You should find out. And in the meantime, buy some stock in Italian airlines. People will be flocking to Verona now.”

Peter laughs, which is more of a dry puff of air. “I’ll make sure to do that.”

“As for the writing, I expect more drafts of work soon, in accordance with your photography.” J.J. says.

“Of course. I’ll go then.”

“Yes. Go, have a good weekend.”

“You too.” Peter says, and leaves the office. He swings by his desk to grab his messenger bag, and is on his way to the elevator when Betty calls him.

“Peter!” She speeds towards him, heels clicking on the floor. “You have mail.”

Peter pauses. “I do?”

“Yeah. From a Bucky Barnes.” She hands him an envelope, which he takes and opens. She turns and leaves, wishing him a nice weekend. He scans over it, reading that Steve and Bucky are getting married over the weekend, and would love for Peter to be there, since he was the one who made it possible for them to reunite. He puts the invitation back in envelope, and his fingers brush a softer, worn-out piece of paper.

“The letter.” Peter murmurs, turning it over in his hand. The letter that started it all, back in Peter’s hands. He bites his lip, and makes a decision. 

* * *

 

“Hey, MJ!” Peter walks through the restaurant, now finished, only a couple weeks away from opening, and enters the kitchen. MJ is a fiend in the kitchen, passionate and focused, and all the other chefs play into her strengths, making their work look effortless.

“MJ.” He says again, and this time, she hears him. She looks up from her work.

“I need to talk to you.” Peter tells her.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“I got an invitation to Steve and Bucky’s wedding.”

“Oh, honey, that’s great! When are they getting married?” MJ asks.

“Saturday.”

“Saturday. This Saturday?”

“Yeah,” Peter takes a breath, and continues, “I’m going alone.” But then, Peter thinks of a bright smile and a wicked sense of humor, along with a toned physique and soft lips, and feels guilty.

“Guys, uh,” MJ calls to her chefs, “can you please leave? Just leave the kitchen? It’s fine to leave things where they are, just, just go.” The chefs nod, and file out of the kitchen. Peter looks at the floor, then back at MJ.

“Wait, so,” MJ starts.

“No, no, let me get this out.” Peter interrupts, putting his hand up. He looks at MJ, then the counter, then back at MJ. “I don’t know what this is anymore. I don’t know what we’re doing, anymore. We went on vacation, and we didn’t spend time together.”

“Yeah, because you were, busy, no?” MJ leans her hands on the counter. “I didn’t mind.”

“I _know_ you didn’t mind.” Peter says. “And you were busy.”

“Oh, come on.” MJ makes a face.

“You went to all those places, Livorno, the wine auction, everything, and _I didn’t mind_.”

“No, no, Peter, no.” MJ turns from Peter, and throws her hands in the air.

“Which is what I’m saying.” Peter looks at MJ’s back, one hand raised in an explanatory gesture, even though MJ can’t see it. “MJ, we went on, like, a honeymoon,” MJ turns and faces Peter, her arms crossed, “and we didn’t mind spending time apart. It’s not supposed to be that way. We’re supposed to want to be together all the time.” MJ takes a step forward.

“Well, I wish I could tell you things are going to be different.” Her voice is somber. “That I’m going to be different. And I… But this is who I am.” She makes a shrugging motion.

“I know.” Peter says, and his voice is quiet. “But I love, I love who you are.” And he means it, God does Peter love who MJ, is, but it isn’t working and Peter isn’t happy and neither, he thinks, is MJ. “But I’ve changed. It’s not working.” And the words in his head that have been there since the pre-honeymoon, and all the thoughts that have built up are finally released in those three words. MJ looks devastated, and her eyes roam Peter’s face, searching for something more. Peter’s face contorts, from a sad smile to a frown, that creases his features, and MJ steps forward and throws her arms around his shoulders. He wraps his arms around her back. Her hand clutches the back of his neck and squeezes briefly before turning away and backing out of the embrace. She leans against the counter, and watches Peter, her eyes misty.

“I have to go, Mary Jane.” And Peter turns and walks out of the kitchen, out of the restaurant, out of MJ’s life.

* * *

The next thing Peter knows, is that he's on a plane, listening to Taylor Swift’s Love Story. Then, the plane touches down, and Peter’s driving through the countryside to the town where Steve and Bucky reunited, to the hotel where the wedding is taking place. Peter parks his car and walks through the hotel, handing the receptionist his invitation, and lets himself be guided into the main room.

The main room, the banquet hall, is located inside, with the garden at the center of the hotel, an uncovered atrium, with balconies from rooms overlooking the area. The room seems almost too big, to Peter. The balconies are sparse, giving the effect of privacy, even if there are people sitting on their balconies. Bright green ivy climbs up the walls, offsetting the beige color or the stone. Most people are milling around aimlessly, talking amongst themselves.

Then, Peter sees Wade from a distance, and decides to go towards him.

“Peter?” Wade says, and Peter can’t help but notice how handsome Wade looks, in a black jacket with a green vest and tie, and grey slacks. Peter’s reminded then of his crush and the feelings that he needs to tamp down on.

“Hi,” Peter smiles, and feels like he’s drowning.

“Hey.” Wade says.

“Hi.” Peter repeats, feeling breathless.

“I can’t believe you made it.” Wade says, and starts babbling. “You look so handsome. When’d you get in? Where are you staying?”

“Honestly, I haven’t figured that out yet.” Peter confesses.

“Don’t worry about it, then. You’ll stay at the hotel. I’ll get you a room. Steve wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“I hope so.” Peter smiles. “Speaking of, how is our Steve and Bucky?”

“They’re wonderful, both as amazing as ever and triply annoying now that they’ve found each other.” Wade breaks into a wide grin, and Peter laughs. It seems like a good time as any, so Peter starts,

“Um, actually, I wanted to‑” and he’s cut off by a dark-haired woman coming over to them and grabbing at Wade’s arm, smiling as she fondly scolds him, “There you are! We’re almost ready, and we need you in there.”

“Peter, this is Vanessa.” He smiles at her.

“Oh, hi, hi.” Peter says and she sticks out her hand, which he shakes, his stomach churning.

“You’re _the_ Peter?” Vanessa asks, to which Peter has no response, but Wade says,

“Yes, _the_ Peter.” And blushes, which confuses Peter.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, put a face to the name and all that.” Her hand moves and brushes over Wade’s shoulder before it returns to her side. “Well, I’ll meet you inside.”

“Okay.” Wade agrees.

“Don’t fall!” She laughs, and walks away.

Wade looks back at Peter, fondness in his eyes which Peter ignores, and Peter shakes his head minisculely.

“It’s great to see you.” Wade says, looking like he wants to reach out and touch Peter.

“I’m going to go inside. I’ll see you after, okay?” Peter ducks past Wade and heads to the garden.

* * *

The ceremony, Peter thinks, is almost blissfully short. Nevertheless, it’s a beautiful event, with Steve and Bucky professing their love and devotion to one another forever. It makes Peter think about MJ, and he feels regret, but reminds himself that he was unhappy with their relationship, and it wasn’t going to work out in the long-run.

Afterwards, cocktail hour seems to pass by in an instant, and Steve and Bucky are seated at a long rectangular table in the banquet hall, surrounded by their friends on either side, and then there’s the circular tables set up to surround the rectangular table, one of which Peter’s sitting at.

They’ve just finished dinner, and are about to cut the cake, when they stop to do speeches.

Sam, on Steve’s side, goes first, and talks about his years of friendship with Steve, which is touching and also too long, and then Wade, on Bucky’s side, goes.

He talks about devotion, how love across borders never stops, and if someone is stubborn enough, then the love shared will always survive. Wade looks at Peter once or twice while he speaks, but largely looks at his own table, with Vanessa seated there, and Peter’s stomach turns.

Then Steve speaks, short, sweet, and emotional, as he talks about the years he spent apart from Bucky and how glad he is that they can finally share their lives together.

The Bucky goes. After the applause from Steve’s speech quiets down, Bucky stands, and addresses Peter, holding a piece of paper in his hand.

“Peter, if I could, would you let me read your letter?” Bucky asks, as guests turn and look at him.

“Yeah.” Peter says, and bites his lip, feeling nervous about the words he wrote, and the fact that Bucky will read them.

Bucky clears his throat, and begins.

“‘ _Dear Bucky,_

“‘ _What’ and ‘if’ are two words as nonthreatening as words can be, but when you place them side by side, they can hold the power to haunt you for the rest of your life._

“‘ _What if’, ‘what if’, ‘_ what if’ _... These words are so powerful, almost to a point where continuing to think about them could be dangerous. I don’t know the ending to your story. I don’t know if it has an ending. But that’s not for me to know, only to advise you on the actions you can take to reach the end of your story._

“‘ _If what you felt was true love, then it’s never too late to go to Steve and tell him how you feel. If it was true then, all those years ago, there’s no reason for it to not be true now. You only ever need the courage to follow your heart._

“‘ _I don’t know what a love like Juliet’s, like yours feels like. I can pretend to imagine, but the love I have, it doesn’t seem to even touch the depths of your love for Steve. I don’t know this love, the kind of love to leave your loved ones, your home, love to cross oceans for._

“‘ _But, I’d like to believe that if I ever felt that kind of love, I’d have the courage to seize it._

“‘ _Bucky, if you didn’t, I hope that one day you will._

“‘ _All my love, Juliet._ ’” Bucky’s eyes are shining by the time he finishes reading the letter, and Steve reaches out, and grabs Bucky’s hand, who squeezes it and smiles down at Steve. The crowd applaudes and Peter smiles at Bucky, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

Peter looks around, at all the love in the banquet hall, Bucky and Steve, Wade and Vanessa, and he can’t take it anymore. He glances over at the guests seated around him, then pushes out his chair, excuses himself, and speeds out into the atrium. He turns into the hallway, and sees Wade hurrying after him, calling out his name.

Peter continues on, and runs up the stairs into his hallway, and unlocks his room. He starts to hurriedly pack his clothes, when he hears a shout. Peter peers out of the balcony doors, and sees Wade standing below in the atrium.

“Peter! _Peter_!” Wade calls, and Peter screws his eyes shut, before taking a deep breath, and reemerges onto the balcony.

“Wade, please. I can’t do this.” Peter starts, his throat feeling thick. “I can’t stay. It’s too painful.”

“Why?” Wade asks, craning his neck up at Peter.

“You’re here with Vanessa, and I didn’t realize it sooner, or maybe I couldn’t. MJ and I broke up.”

Wade’s mouth opens and closes, and his brows knit together. “You’re not engaged?”

Peter shakes his head. “No. But it’s too late.” He says quietly. “It’s obviously too late. And it doesn’t matter anymore, because honestly? I love you.” Peter takes a deep breath and smiles, tears spilling down his cheeks.

“I can’t believe I just said that, but, I do.” He wipes at his face. “I love you. It doesn’t, it shouldn’t matter because you have Vanessa.”

Peter takes another breath, and Wade shouts up at him,

“She’s my cousin!”

Peter chokes on the tears that threaten to spill. “ _How is that legal_?”

Wade starts to laugh then, and he grabs onto the ivy as he starts to climb up to the balcony. “Peter, the Vanessa who broke up with me is completely out of my life. The other Vanessa, she is singularly my cousin.” He gets closer. “Listen to me, I’m in love with you too.” Wade reaches the balcony, and Peter finds himself leaning down to kiss Wade as Wade angles his head forward and then ‑ _snap_!

Wade is on the ground, the ivy broken next to him, and Wade is laughing as Peter tears down the stairs and cradles Wade’s head in his lap.

“Wade, are you okay?”

“I’m indestructible. Don’t worry about it. But, oh, my God, that was so stupid. Please tell me nobody saw that.” Wade groans.

Peter looks up, and sees Steve and Bucky standing at the entrance to the reception, arms wound around each other, smiling at him and Wade. Peter looks back down at Wade.

“No, nobody saw anything.”

“Good, that’s good.” Wade murmurs, and takes Peter’s face in his hands, and kisses him.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> Tu chi sei? = Who are you?  
> Come fanno a continuare a trovare la casa? = How do they keep finding the house?  
> Lo conosci? Il suo nome è... = Do you know him? His name is (Steve)  
> Suona familiare. Penso che sia un artista. = Sounds familiar. I think he’s an artist.  
> Sai dove vive? = Do you know where he lives?  
> Ma, lo fa fare un sacco di proiezioni. Vedere se è possibile trovare un volantino in città. = But, he does do a lot of showings. See if you can find a flier around town.  
> Posso aiutarti? = Can I help you?  
> Sì, stavo cercando... = Yeah, I was looking for…
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://hurricanekid.tumblr.com)


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